


they can't believe i made you weak

by wishsociety



Category: Romeo And Juliet - All Media Types, Romeo And Juliet - Shakespeare
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Underage Drinking, M/M, Religious Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-10
Updated: 2017-10-03
Packaged: 2018-12-26 07:49:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12054528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wishsociety/pseuds/wishsociety
Summary: He remembered sitting in the car afterwards, face pressed against the cool window and realizing, finally, why lust is classified as a deadly sin.





	1. they can't believe i made you weak

His strut remains confident, despite the way his knees quake with every step. The whispers, he knows, are mostly all in his head. But he hears the few that aren’t, and they sink deep into his bones. Their words are harsh, and eyes even harsher. The staring, he thinks, is worse, hot and forceful against his back as he makes his way to first period. He slides into his seat after what feels like an eternity, and his fingers mindlessly tap the melody to March to the Scaffold. He hears a snort next to him and cuts his eyes in that direction, knowing who he’ll see.

“It can’t be that bad.” The boy next to him says. “Everyone’s acting normal.”

“To you.” He responds. “Everyone’s used to you doing whatever you like, I have a reputation to uphold.”

“If you were so concerned about your reputation, you wouldn’t have done it, now would you?”

He flashes back, unwillingly, to the night of the Event, his supposed crime. He hardly has to imagine, with the bruises still pressed into the pale skin of his hips. He squirms in his seat, adjusts the waist of his pants. He turns away, promptly ending the conversation.

“Now, don’t be like that,” Mercutio says, voice sinking to a purr. His hand sneaks onto Tybalt’s thigh, but Tybalt swats it away.

“I really don’t think talking to you is the best thing for me right now.”

“Tybalt, come on, no one cares. It’s all in your head.”

As if on cue, the girl in front of him leans over, whispering to the boy sitting beside her. Tybalt shoots Mercutio a meaningful glare, but Mercutio just smirks.

Always smiling, laughing, brushing it off. He hadn’t been laughing that night, not by any stretch of the imagination. His voice had been deadly serious, huffing declarations of love into the skin of Tybalt’s neck as if it were their last moments alive.

“No one even knows.” Mercutio assures him. 

“Juliet has already been pestering me about it,” Tybalt says, “And she wasn’t even there.”

“Romeo told her, of course.”

“And why would he know?” 

“It was his house.”

Tybalt remembers. The family photos adorning the hall, Romeo’s face among them, as Mercutio led him by hand to the first open door they could find. He’d fallen inside without a second thought, into the proverbial rabbit hole, consumed by desire. 

He remembered sitting in the car afterwards, face pressed against the cool window and realizing, finally, why lust is classified as a deadly sin. How it could trigger the death of his pride, his fall from grace. Sitting in the desk, now, his body warms and he wonders if he’s beginning his descent to Hell.

“I can tell you’re thinking about weird shit,” Mercutio says, knocking on his desk. “Is it because you’re Catholic? Can’t you just confess your sins or whatever?”

“I’ve already been to confession. The priest didn’t have much to say, and I’m worried out of my mind that he’s going to tell my mother.”

“Doesn’t that violate some other rule?”

“Obviously. I didn’t say it was a rational fear. Since when are you studying Catholicism?”

“Since I started studying you, of course.” He smiles, lecherous and disgusting and unfortunately intoxicating.

“Anyway, no, it’s not because I’m Catholic,” Tybalt snaps. “It’s because everyone is talking about me and I have no idea how to handle it. I’m not even that religious-”

“People are talking about you because they’re jealous.” Mercutio cuts him off.

“You flatter yourself.”

“I’m serious. _ You  _ should be flattered.”

At that moment, the lesson officially begins, with their French teacher silencing them with a glance in their direction. 

When the bell rings, Tybalt feels a little like he’s retreating. Mercutio follows after him despite his haste, catching him by the lockers with a firm grip around his wrist.

“Can you please be sensible for once in your life and talk about this?” Mercutio asks.

“Talk about what?” 

“You’re acting like a child.”

He had been that night, too. Acting petulant. Arguing with Mercutio, as usual, but with a little alcohol to make things interesting. He’s a social drinker, never drunk, but it was enough to allow him to yank Mercutio forward, their lips meeting somewhere in the collision and effectively silencing him.

“Did it mean anything to you?” Mercutio asks, looking...hopeful? 

Tybalt’s seeing their relationship through rose-colored glasses he knows, hearing him say “I love you” every time he thinks about the way Mercutio had held him so tightly, wanted him so badly.

“No.” He lies, steadfast. The word slips off his tongue before he even realizes what he’s saying.

“Of course not.” Mercutio laughs humorlessly. “I so often forget that you don’t actually have feelings.”

It stings, but not as much as the slamming realization as Mercutio storms away that he is completely alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I was listening to Strange Love by Halsey and I don't know writing this was like vomiting there might be more? I don't know. Anywayssss have fun with this thing you probably did not want!!!! So this is really short and not edited or anything but yeah.


	2. i'm the violence in the pouring rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re disgusting.” Tybalt says, but he’s unable to hide the way his breath hitches.

There’s another party that weekend, this time at Benvolio’s house. Tybalt is dead set on not going, but Juliet has other plans.

“My dad says I can’t go unless you do.”

“And that makes me want to go why?”

“Because I’m your favorite cousin. And you want me to have fun and be happy.”

“You don’t know what I want.”

“You’re right, I don’t. And I especially don’t know what you want after you complain constantly about Mercutio and then you let him stick it in you in the Montagues’ bathroom. But I’d also be willing to bet you want to see him again.”

“I don’t like it when you use vulgar language like that.”

Juliet rolls her eyes. “And I don’t like that my father insists on us attending everything together despite the fact you pay no mind to me. But please,  _ please _ come.”

“Fine.” Tybalt snaps. “But if Mercutio is there I’m going to wait in the car.”

“All night?” Juliet asks.

“All night.”

 

It’s a much bigger party than the first, so it’s immediately obvious that Mercutio will be there. Tybalt follows Juliet anyway, isolating himself in the kitchen and making the decision to stick to soda for the night. Juliet makes a beeline for Romeo and his little football buddies, all too content to have his arm around her waist as he babbles on. Tybalt only snarls a little, grown accustomed to the relationship despite a distinct lack of fondness for it.

He’s pouring a second cup of root beer when he feels a hand on the small of his back. He jumps, spilling a small puddle onto the counter.

“Well, fancy seeing you here,” Mercutio says, plucking a roll of paper towels from the counter and offering it up. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I wasn’t going to come, but Juliet’s father doesn’t let her go to parties unless I accompany her, and she was all in a tizzy about seeing Romeo, so...I’m here.”

“You’re here.” Mercutio repeats. 

Tybalt ignores him, watching the paper towels turn soggy as he mops up the root beer. Mercutio places a hand over his own, pressing the front of his body insistently against Tybalt’s back. “Let me help you.”

“I can really do it myself.” Tybalt says, trying and failing to bat him away. Instead, Mercutio’s hands fall on his hips, pulling him back as he grinds against him. Tybalt can’t help but gasp, flushing with the embarrassment of allowing himself to be truly  _affected._

“I know you  _ can,  _ but do you want to?” Mercutio asks, voice breathy against Tybalt’s ear. He starts kissing his neck, one hand pushing up his shirt. 

“I told you it didn’t mean anything to me.” Tybalt says, desperately trying to scare him off so that maybe he won’t make the same mistake again.

“And for some reason, I don’t believe you. You were pretty quick to say ‘I love you, too’ last time, you know.”

“That was in the middle of sex. I can’t be held responsible for what I say when I’m incoherent.”

“It was that good, huh?”

“I was intoxicated.”

“You were not. You were tipsy, at most, but you gave me explicit, sober consent. Some might even say you begged for it, but I wouldn’t want to hurt your pride that way.”

“Capulets-”

“Capulets don’t beg, I know.” Mercutio snorts, dropping his voice to a murmur and dragging his lips up Tybalt’s throat. “But they sure can ask real sweet and pretty for my cock, can’t they?”

“You’re disgusting.” Tybalt says, but he’s unable to hide the way his breath hitches.

“Then I’ll leave you alone.” They share a brief glance, and just like that, he’s gone, slipping out of the kitchen door.

Almost mindlessly, Tybalt follows him, bounding up an unfamiliar staircase into an unoccupied room that must be Benvolio’s parents’. He chooses not to think about it as he twists the lock, and Mercutio raises an eyebrow.

“Change your mind?” Mercutio asks.

“I’m not drunk, I won’t beg you, and we’ll see how it goes.”

“Sounds good to me,” Mercutio says, and then he’s shoving Tybalt against the wall, hard, and kissing him. 

Tybalt thinks back to when they were kids, probably eleven or twelve years old, when they would fight in the open field behind the middle school after the final bell. They would roll around for sometime, but Tybalt never learned to throw a punch and Mercutio never learned to hold back. His father would always say the same thing when he’d come home bloody-nosed and black-eyed.

“Protect that Capulet name, boy. Gentlemen do not swing first, but they do swing last.”

He had never told his father that he usually lost the fights, likely due to his scrawny frame and Mercutio’s larger one. Or that he usually started them, with a muffled warning before last period. He can’t recall, now, what any of them were about. Someone (Usually Benvolio. On some occasions, when he was not eager to jump in and join the fray, Romeo.) would always come to yank Mercutio off of him, scolding him for falling victim to his anger once again.

No one is here to yank Mercutio off of him, now, despite all the good it would do for the both of them. 

Tybalt pauses, pulling away. “Do you remember when we used to fight after school?”

Mercutio laughs, squeezing Tybalt’s waist. “How could I forget? I broke your nose.”

“You did not  _ break  _ it.” Tybalt snaps, jerking away from his hands.

“It’s awfully crooked to have never been broken.” Mercutio smirks. “Now shut your mouth and let me kiss you.”

Tybalt does.

But his mind still wanders, back to the how, when, and why. They’d maintained an unsteady (Unsteady meaning they fought less with their hands now that the consequences bore a greater weight) friendship freshman year, once Romeo and Juliet got together. Mercutio would always sit with Juliet at football games, and Tybalt was forever cursed to be by her side. And there was one thing that Tybalt and Mercutio both loved to do: make fun of Romeo.

But they still fought, constantly arguing, often just for the sake of arguing. Over anything. Politics, schoolwork, ice cream flavors. 

Tybalt had kissed him that night to silence him, not intending for it to go any further. But then Mercutio had fisted a hand tight in his hair and growled into his mouth, and well.

Well, he’s only human.

And that’s how he comforts himself now, as Mercutio guides him toward the bed, climbing on top of him and pressing kisses into his jaw.

“This really is a lot like when we were kids,” He murmurs, voice edging toward teasing. “With me always coming out on top.”

“I’ll leave.” 

“Go ahead,” Mercutio says.

“Get off me and I will.”

Mercutio rocks back onto his knees and makes an elaborate gesture towards the door.

Never one to be bested, Tybalt goes.

On his way out, he grabs Juliet, and insists that it’s time to go home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's play a fun game called "I don't know when this will be officially finished."  
> tbh this is just a fun way for me to pass time between classes or whatever also sorry to my friends who will inevitably read this  
> yet again unedited i'm just having a good time here  
> sponsored by halsey's badlands album


	3. all we do is drive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We’re fighting.”

“You want what.” Mercutio says, flatly, leaned up against his locker, the definition of rebel without a cause. Leather jacket, dark hair, amused smile.

“We’re fighting.”

“ _ We _ implies that I agreed to fight you, which I didn’t. I think our time could be much better spent.” He reaches out to touch Tybalt’s face, but Tybalt bats his hand away.

“You don’t have to agree. If I start, you won’t just take it, will you?”

“I wish  _ you’d _ just take it. Then we could stop playing these stupid games.”

“Could you lower your voice, please?”

“It’s only going to make everyone pay more attention to us if you start throwing punches out in the parking lot. You were freaking out about everyone knowing like a week ago. Believe me, after this, everyone would know.”

“You used to agree.”

“When we were thirteen years old. Because I hadn’t fucked you then.”

“I said  _ lower your voice. _ ”

“Did it really hurt your feelings that badly when I said I used to win?”

“It didn’t hurt my feelings. I just thought I’d remind you that you  _ didn’t. _ ”

“Tybalt. You were ninety pounds soaking wet back then. Your skills have definitely improved, and that wasn’t meant to say I would beat you in a fight now. Anyway, I think that we should drive out to the lake after school instead. If you could maybe refrain from hitting me, I’ll even let you drive the Mustang.”

“I don’t want to drive that thing.” Tybalt growls, even though he does, has since Mercutio got it for his sixteenth birthday and he saw it sitting in his driveway for the first time. “And we’re not  _ dating. _ ”

“Yeah, I kinda knew that, since none of my girlfriends have ever sidled up to me in the hall and threatened to fight me. I just thought that maybe we could hang out alone, you know?” He winks.

“No.” Tybalt says, simply, and walks away to go to his calculus class. He only turns around once, and sees Mercutio shaking his head, smiling to himself.

That afternoon, he has every intention of fighting with Mercutio, if not just to prove a point. But then he’s actually face to face with him, and he feels like everyone is watching, (again) and Mercutio just raises his eyebrows and right when he finally decides to take the plunge and swing, Mercutio’s expression changes and he just growls, “Get in the damn car.”

Tybalt’s arm drops back down to his side, still curled into a fist, and he balks. Just for a second. And then he kisses Mercutio in broad daylight in front of everyone and this is much, much worse but his heart is pounding and Mercutio is kissing back, and it’s not angry, for once, just a kiss.

And Tybalt gets in the car. 

He watches the city fade into countryside, barely listening to the music Mercutio plays, (the kind you thrash to, angry and harsh, but Mercutio sings it like it’s Broadway) all too consumed by his own thoughts. He knows he’ll have several messages when he finally turns his phone back on, especially after that display in the parking lot.

“So…” Mercutio says, finally. “You good?”

“I don’t think so.”

“And why not?”

“I did that.”

Mercutio laughs. “It’s really not a big deal. People have made out in the parking lot before. Romeo and Juliet might as well never stop. No one was even paying attention.”

All Tybalt remembers are eyes, everyone staring, fixed on the ordeal playing out in front of them. “Are you sure?”

“Definitely. And even if they did, I promise no one cares but you. We’re not like...we’re not our parents, okay? And no one is going to tell our parents, because no one really gives a shit.”

“Okay.” Tybalt says, shakily. 

“And like...even if they did, I’d have your back, okay? I don’t hate you or whatever. I’m here.”

Mercutio drives with one hand, the other reaching out to rest on Tybalt’s knee. Tybalt lets him, surprising even himself as he just...sits. 

“I’m just scared.” Tybalt says after seconds pass.

“Why?”

“Because I don’t hate you, either. And I always thought I did. Or should, at least.”

Tybalt’s had girlfriends. Several. But it’s always been fleeting and procedural, almost cold in nature. Mid-week dinners and the movies on the weekend, sometimes concerts, sometimes vacations, sometimes lake days. Usually pretty blondes from wealthy neighborhoods after the long lectures from his father about watching for women who are after his money. But he finds himself, suddenly, being pursued, and it’s dizzying.

“Like you said, we’re not dating.” Mercutio says, and then he’s getting out of the car. “And we’re here.”

Tybalt’s always liked the lake during the summer, sitting on the shore and watching the water move underneath bright sun. But it’s late October, chilly, and he’s feeling it, cold soaking into his bones. The sun is already starting to set, marking the approaching end of daylight savings. Before he can say much about it, Mercutio is draping his jacket over his shoulders like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Aren’t you cold?” Tybalt asks, and Mercutio shrugs.

“A little, I guess. But I was hoping I wouldn’t be for long.” He grins, smarmy.

He pushes Tybalt against the door of the car, kissing him to the sound of leather rubbing against the car’s finish. Tybalt keeps his hands in his pockets. Soon, Mercutio’s hands join them, fingers settling on top of Tybalt’s own.

“This is different.” Tybalt comments.

“Yeah.” Is all Mercutio says, kissing him again. 

They sit on the hood of the car and watch the sun go down, not a word exchanged between them. Mercutio’s arm is wrapped tight around Tybalt’s waist, and Tybalt eventually relaxes into his side. As the sky darkens, Mercutio starts kissing on his neck, and Tybalt allows himself to be hauled into his lap.

He’s still shivering, night air biting at his ears and face, but he tries desperately to ignore it, licking desperately into Mercutio’s mouth.

“You wanna get in the car?” Mercutio asks.

“I don’t want to leave,” Tybalt says, pulling Mercutio back in by his shirt, an attempt at distraction.

Mercutio resists. “I didn’t say we had to leave. It’s just cold out here, and I thought I could turn the car on, we could be a little less freezing…”

They get in the backseat, Mercutio’s thrashy music wailing in the background, and Mercutio climbs on top of him, rutting up against him fully clothed until he’s panting in uncontrollable want, craving something rougher, deeper, harder. Tybalt’s not saying anything, just making these little whiny sounds, and he would be embarrassed if he weren’t so caught up in it.

“Tell me what you want.” Mercutio says, voice hoarse. 

“Fuck me.” Tybalt snarls, refusing to sound weak, even in an undeniable moment of weakness.

“You know, I would,” Mercutio starts, and Tybalt’s disappointment begins to build as Mercutio slides off of him, clambering back into the driver’s seat. “But after the stunt you pulled at that party, I figured you kinda deserve to know what that’s like.”

Tybalt sits there, blinking in his own confusion as Mercutio starts to put the car in drive. 

“You wanna ride back there or are you going to move?” He asks.

Craving the last word, Tybalt stays in the backseat. And pointedly does  _ not  _ think about how if he were sitting up front, Mercutio’s hand would be on his thigh and he would have some sense of human connection between them.  

Tybalt gets back in his own car once they return to the high school parking lot, successfully having avoided speaking to Mercutio the entire ride there, but finds that he doesn’t feel so vindicated after all. 

He gets home, he cries in the shower, (So his family won’t hear. Capulets don’t beg, and they also don’t cry. Tybalt’s father has a whole list of rules.) and starts realizing how in over his head he truly is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I!!!! Can't!!!!! Stop!!!!  
> These will never be edited, I'm sorry, because every chapter is another impulse decision I have made.


	4. i know i've only felt religion when i've lied with you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m telling you to shut up because when you argue with me like this it makes me want to snatch up your hair and kiss the hell out of you, so shut the fuck up, please.”

They don’t speak, after that. Tybalt spends most of his free time wondering why  _ this  _ was the incident that drove a wedge between them, why he sees winning as so important, and why he gets so damn upset when Mercutio starts sitting across the room from him in all their shared classes and stops showing up at his locker during passing periods.

“Ooh, what happened there?” Juliet asks one day as Mercutio passes by without a word to either of them. “Anything I should know about?”

“No. Things didn’t work out. Obviously.”

“Obviously, huh? Sounds like you got hurt.”

“He couldn’t hurt me if he tried.” Tybalt lies, but his voice is steely enough to be believable. After that, Juliet retreats.

A month passes, and there’s something in the air as they start preparing for Christmas break, teachers all discussing finals to uncaring students, especially with rooms full of near second semester seniors. Tybalt gets into Cornell, and it lifts him out of the bleakness, even if only momentarily. Teachers clap him on the back in the hallway when he wears his sweatshirt, offering praise and congratulations, but Mercutio still says nothing.

Two weeks before break, their French teacher breaks routine by announcing their final project: a sketch, written entirely in French, performed in pairs on the last Friday before they get out of school. Tybalt feels his heart sink when Mercutio makes some sort of hand gesture towards a blonde girl he doesn’t know, but it then lurches when it’s announced that pairs will be assigned.

The only thing that could be worse than working without Mercutio is working with him. And she goes down her list of assigned partners and as the numbers dwindle, Tybalt realizes that it’s going to be the two of them. And it makes sense, they’re on the same level of comprehension, but it’s unwanted. He contemplates asking to switch partners, but is accosted before he can.

“So I guess we’re going to have to do this.” Mercutio says, slamming his stuff down at the desk next to Tybalt’s. Just like old times. “Just try to keep your attitude in check until this is finished, okay?”

Tybalt doesn’t say anything, bites hard into the inside of his cheek but manages to hold his tongue.

“Do you have any ideas?”

“Not really. Maybe something with a restaurant. That unit was easy, and I think it gives us enough material to work with to satisfy the time requirements.”

They spend the class period planning it out, and make plans to meet at Mercutio’s house that weekend to write the script and get it over with. It’s normal, just a little tense. But Tybalt doesn’t want normal with him, hasn’t since they kissed for the first time.

“Good job on Cornell, by the way,” Mercutio says as he hoists his bag onto his shoulder. “I’m supposed to hear back from Ithaca sometime this week. So we might end up sharing a town.”

“Good luck.”

“Yeah,” Mercutio mumbles. “Thanks. I’m probably going to need it. My grades this semester haven’t been the best.”

“You’ll pull through. You always do.”

Mercutio smiles, but it’s lackluster, and he leaves without another word.

By time Tybalt gets out to the parking lot, half set on finally confronting whatever it is that’s gone so wrong, the Mustang is already gone.

Juliet’s standing by his own car, looking anxious.

“Hey, so, I need a  _ huge  _ favor-” She starts, and by the end of the conversation, Romeo Montague is in his backseat. Juliet, thankfully, still sits passenger, fiddling with the radio and filling the awkward silences.

He pulls up to the Montagues’ house, and Romeo gets out without a word. He takes a step toward the front door and then turns on his heel. Tybalt rolls his window down.

“I don’t know what happened.” Romeo says. “But he hasn’t been the same. And I know you’re ‘done with fighting’ and all that other bullshit, but you better fucking fix it.”

“This isn’t your business.” Juliet interjects before Tybalt can say a word.

“You know good and well that it is,” Romeo says, “And I sincerely am not threatening you or trying to make this into a whole thing, but...he really cared about you. Or whatever. For some reason. So...do with that what you will.”

And he walks into the house, leaving Tybalt shellshocked and Juliet bubbling over with irritation.

“Did you hear him  _ condescend  _ to me? God, he makes me so  _ mad- _ ”

“He’s right, Jules. I know you don’t want to hear that but he is. It was my fault. And now we have this stupid project we have to do together. So I need to handle it.”

She doesn’t say another word, slamming the door behind her when he drops her off.

He cuts the radio, driving the ten minutes back to his neighborhood in complete silence.

Mercutio’s parents aren’t home that weekend, something that would’ve excited him if he’d heard it weeks before. But now he craves the barrier they would provide. He holds his breath when he rings the doorbell.

Mercutio, of course, answers. With wet hair and transparent patches on his t-shirt. Tybalt catches himself staring, forces his attention back to his face.

“Let’s get this done.” Mercutio says, side stepping so Tybalt can slide inside. The door shuts behind him and he feels an overwhelming sense of dread.

They sit at the dining room table, across from each other, and it’s all French until they get in a disagreement about tenses.

“It would be imparfait.” Mercutio insists, “Because it’s recurring.”

“We’re talking about one specific instance, so that doesn’t apply here.”  
“Except that it does, because it happened _more than once._ ”

“You repeating the same shit over and over again isn’t going to make me agree with you.”

“God, you’re fucking impossible. I’m repeating the same thing because I don’t know how else to get it through your head that I’m right.”

“You can’t convince me you’re right because you aren’t.”

“Remember that whole summer I spent in France? I think that says a little bit more than your elementary understanding of grammatical rules.”

“We were in the eighth fucking grade, they weren’t even offering foreign language classes yet. And my understanding goes beyond elementary comprehension, thanks, I’ve had private lessons since-”

“Please just shut the fuck up.”

“You can’t tell me to shut up just because you’re  _ wrong. _ ”

“I’m telling you to shut up because when you argue with me like this it makes me want to snatch up your hair and kiss the hell out of you, so shut the fuck up, please.”

Tybalt lunges across the table, and they meet somewhere in the middle, teeth clashing.

They only kiss for a second before Mercutio pushes him off, breathing hard with an angry look in his eye.

“Look, you’re the one that called this whole thing off, so I don’t particularly think you have the right to be doing this right now.”

“When did I call it off?”

“When you didn’t talk to me for a fucking month and a half.”

“I didn’t think you wanted to talk to me.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because at the lake-”

“At the lake, we grinded up on each other for an hour and then things were  _ kind of awkward?  _ That’s not really the kind of thing that ends a whole relationship.”

“Then why didn’t you try to talk to me?”

“I was giving you time to chill out. You were being weird that night, so I figured you wanted space. And then you started ignoring me.”

“You moved away from me in all our classes.”

“After a week of sitting next to you in complete and total silence. I just don’t ever know what the fuck you want, and it makes it really hard to keep anything consistent.”

“I didn’t know you wanted anything consistent.”

“Well you definitely didn’t make it sound like you did, either. You were the one always insisting that we weren’t dating and acting like you were doing me some huge favor by even  _ deigning  _ to touch me. I wasn’t going to fuck up a good thing just because I have feelings for you.”

“You have feelings for me?”

“Yes, you massive fucking narcissist. Don’t stretch out your rejection too long, please, it’s too much for my fragile heart.” Mercutio says, voice edging on irritation.

Tybalt opens his mouth, starts to speak, but instead tugs Mercutio forward again.

“I’m serious, if you’re fucking around, do not do this.”

“I’m not fucking around. I like you, for some godforsaken reason, and I do want to be with you. Now please just let me kiss you like we’re boyfriends.”

“Not here.” Mercutio says, and he slides his chair away from the table. 

Tybalt follows him up the stairs, struck by how strange it is that he’s about to see Mercutio’s bedroom for the first time, despite everything else that’s transpired between them. It’s dark, as expected, posters of rock bands and cars plastered all over the walls. Tybalt doesn’t have much time to look, however, before Mercutio is pushing him towards the bed.

Tybalt falls into the mattress, pulse racing, and Mercutio climbs over him. 

Mercutio’s kissing up his neck when he pauses to whisper in his ear.

“It’s still the imparfait.”

Tybalt’s caught off guard and finds himself laughing.

“Alright, alright. We’ll do it that way. If we get points off-”

“I’ll blow you.” Mercutio says. “If we get points off.”

Tybalt snorts. “God, I hope you’re wrong.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The!!! End!!! I've been listening to Bare and it kicked up all my R&J feelings again so I figured I should finish this. Thanks for reading, the few of you that do, and I really appreciate all the kind words & things!!!  
> P.S. Mercutio gets into Ithaca & they live happily ever after


End file.
